


Take This Longing

by Hattingmad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hattingmad/pseuds/Hattingmad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco owes Harry a life debt. To cancel it out, he must save Harry's life. This is proving more difficult than anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take this longing from my tongue

_take this longing from my tongue, all these useless things these hands have done._

_Let me see your beauty broken down like you would do for one you love. -Leonard Cohen_

He sat and stared into space a lot, in the months after the war. Everyone figured it was because he had a lot to think about and left him alone, but really, he was trying hard  _not_ to think.

There were so many topics he didn't want to talk about now, so many names he could never mention again for fear of breaking down, and if he just stared blankly at the ocean or the sunset or a forest, sometimes his brain shut off and he forgot. The Weasleys were like ginger-haired guard dogs, bless them, and they firmly ushered away any reporters, biographers, rabid fans and Ministry of Magic officials who wanted to speak privately with him. He'd testified once at the Wizengamot; he'd had to, in order to sentence the guilty to Azkaban and clear the innocent of all charges. But what was guilty and what was innocent, anymore?

There were too many shades between red and green, and if he'd learned anything from all of this, it was that he was wrong more than he was right about the people who really counted. So he sat and didn't talk and tried not to think about anything particularly, especially not about how disappointed Ginny was with him. Especially not how the family he was imposing on had extra space for him because they'd lost a son. Especially not how her eyes never seemed as bright after the war, and how she just seemed selfish and childish to him in the harsh light of all the things he'd done. Especially not how, while Ron and Hermione cheerfully planned their wedding, he sat and wondered why his awareness of the world had shifted and beautiful women had lost their appeal.

Definitely not how, of all idiotic, pointless things, he still had Draco Malfoy's wand in the back pocket of his jeans because he didn't know how to give it back. He certainly couldn't have during the wizarding trial where he told everyone as star witness how Narcissa Malfoy had concealed the fact of his continued existence from Voldemort and how Draco had refused to identify him at Malfoy Manor. He hadn't seen him since, though he supposed it had only been a matter of months. It felt like forever. The days dragged out and the nights were longer and sleepless. It was almost worse because his scar didn't hurt. At least he'd had a purpose when he was fighting Voldemort. He knew what he was supposed to be doing.

Now… now he sat at parks and fed ducks and missed the dead.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was off his probation. Being a minor and clearly under coercion at the time of his actions in the service of the Dark Lord, his probation was much shorter than that of his parents, who would be carefully monitored for the rest of their lives. Draco was now allowed to do magic again and to go out in public places other than the Ministry-approved list they'd given him at his sentencing. Of course, he couldn't have disobeyed the Ministry's orders even if he'd wanted to.

Harry Potter still had his wand, a matter requiring his immediate attention. If he could even get within ten kilometers of Potter now, seeing as he was an undesirable and Potter was the savior of the wizarding world  _again_. There was another matter regarding Potter requiring his immediate attention, but he'd worry about that once he got his wand back. First, though, he'd go to the park and watch the sun set in solitude, something he'd been unable to do with the Ministry's ever-watchful eye on him since the war.

 

* * *

Harry looked up as he heard the footsteps approaching, but he didn't move from his position on the metal bench. The ducks quacked and ruffled their feathers in indignation as he heard a familiar voice say, "shoo! shoo!" and a person's weight settled down next to him.

 

"Potter," the voice said. Only one person still living called him 'Potter' now. Funny how much easier it was to identify people once half your friends were dead.

"Malfoy," he said peaceably.  _His probation must be up. Well, he has as much right to the ducks and the sun as I do,_  Harry thought. They sat watching the sun set in silence for a while.

"Never pegged you for a nature-lover," Harry said eventually, because he had to say something, and 'how's your family' didn't seem quite right, given the circumstances.

"You'd be surprised," the other man said easily. "Are all these ducks naturally obese?"

"I might have been feeding them a lot recently," Harry admitted, and Malfoy snorted.

"It's a wonder they don't sink." Harry regarded the ducks with a keen eye. Now that he mentioned it, they did seem a bit pudgy. He grinned sheepishly, the recently neglected smile muscles straining in protest. Draco Malfoy looked much the same as he always had, which was a comfort. His hair was longer and he'd regained a bit of the weight he'd lost during the war, but he was essentially unchanged.

"At first I mistook you for a bum, Potter," Malfoy said bluntly. "Don't you shave?"

"It's my clever disguise," Harry told him, "to get people to leave me alone."

"Ah." They stared at the colors in the sky again for a bit.

"Don't suppose I could have my wand back?" Draco asked, with a sidelong gaze at Harry.

"I think you have to take it from me," Harry explained. "You know, since I took it from you. So, no, you can't have your wand back." Draco rolled his eyes, wrapped one arm around Harry to pin his hands to his sides, reached into Harry's back pocket and took back his wand. Harry had a strong suspicion Draco had just groped his ass, but he wasn't going to say so.

"Much obliged," he drawled.  _Nice jeans,_  Draco thought.  _Also nice ass._

"No problem." Harry paused. "You didn't just-"

"What?" Draco widened his eyes, all innocence and confusion.

"Nothing." Harry decided it was better not to know.

There'd been rumours about Malfoy's sexuality, of course, over the years: 'he shags anyone gorgeous enough' was the general consensus. It was none of his business, but Harry had always been perversely fascinated by the glamorous train-wreck that was Draco's private life.

"I owe you a life debt," he said abruptly, cutting off Harry's embarrassing thoughts of Draco having sex with anyone.

"You do? When did I…" Harry stammered, caught out. "Oh, right. The broom." He raised an eyebrow. "So? What do you want me to do about it?"

"I've always wanted to be able to do that," Draco said enviously.

"What?" said Harry, losing the thread of the conversation completely.

"That. Eyebrow thing. I can waggle mine suggestively, but not one at a time like— oh, never mind.  _You_  don't have to do anything about it.  _I_ , on the other hand, have to follow you around trying to keep you out of danger, I expect."

"Wormtail didn't-" Harry began.

"His folly," Draco said shortly. "The longer you leave a life debt unacknowledged, the harder it comes back to bite you in the ass. I saw how he'd strangled himself with his own hand." He shuddered at the memory. "I don't want that happening to me."

"Understood. But I've saved Hermione and Ron tons of times, and they don't have a-"

"A life debt is only created when there was no prior bond of kinship or friendship between the wizards. They have no reason to save each other. Honestly, Potter, didn't Dumbledore ever tell you?"

"There were a lot of things he forgot to mention," Harry said bitterly. "So, what…"

"I have to save your life now. It's the only way to cancel out my debt to you."

"Oh."

"Why'd you do it? It's not as if we were ever friends. Why did you save my life?" Harry shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know. It just happened. I reached out my hand and you were there. I didn't exactly stop to analyze." He glared at Malfoy.

"I suppose you're thinking I should seem more grateful. But my family have always prided themselves on- well, whatever you believe about my family, we honor our contracts fully, whether we like it or not. Which is why we are careful about whom we do business with. We have a saying, 'better dead than indebted'. If that gives you any idea."

"So what you're saying is, you don't like this any more than I do."

"Brilliantly deduced, Potter," Malfoy sneered- no,  _Draco_  sneered. He was a person, had become a person to Harry during the war, and it was more of a smirk, really. He'd say the other man was teasing him if he didn't know better. Harry almost laughed in relief; the familiar insulting tone was so  _normal._ He felt  _normal_  around Draco. What did it say about his life recently that he took comfort in the insults of his childhood rival?

"There were so many people I could have saved. Yet I choose the person who'd rather I have let him die."

"I didn't say-"

"Stupid. Ginny was right, I was stupid. I should have been there to help Colin or Fred or Tonks." 

 _So why didn't you?_ An inner voice hissed.  _Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, are we?_

"You can't think like that, Potter," Draco offered, seeming as surprised as Harry at this outburst. "It's madness to think you're responsible for everyone in a war. If Weasley couldn't see that, she's just as dim as the rest of her family. Not," he added thoughtfully, "that I had any doubts on that account."

Harry took a breath to defend Ginny's honor, but he couldn't muster the energy to care. He sighed instead.

"You didn't ask them to die for you," Draco said relentlessly. "They knew the risks they were taking." It was that simple. The green eyes met the gray with a desperate kind of hope.

"Not just saying that because of a heightened sense of self-preservation, are you?"

"I'm saying it because it's  _true_ ," Draco said, exasperated. "Now stop sniveling, Potter. I'm not your therapist, for Merlin's sake. Go rushing headlong into danger like you always do so I can rescue you from it, and you'll be rid of me."

He almost didn't want to be rid of Draco, he thought oddly. Draco treated him the way he'd always treated Harry, not treading on eggshells around him or revering him pointlessly. The droll disrespect in his tone was refreshing.

"What do you suggest," Harry asked, amused. "Know any other Dark Lords that need defeating? Please don't answer that," he added hastily, just in case Draco had contacts somewhere.

"You could light yourself on fire, I suppose, and I could stomp out the flames."

"No, thank you. You've stomped on my face once; I don't care to repeat the experience."

"Hmm. Tell you what. I have an idea. Why don't we brainstorm ways for me to save your life, say, one a week, until we come up with something that works?"

"We really have to do this?"

"Yes."

"What's the alternative?" Draco's eyes darkened.

"I die a gruesome, unpleasant death. Not happening. I'm going to save your life, Potter," he threatened, "like it or not."

"Fine," Harry sighed, not all that displeased by the idea, actually. It would give him something to do, and he sort of had a purpose again. His purpose was to save Draco's life again by letting Draco save his.

Sure. Whatever. It'd do.

"Could we maybe think about it over sandwiches? I'm starving."

* * *

"We should rename you the Boy Who Ate Everything," Draco said two hours later, watching in amusement as Harry finished his third tray of sandwiches. "Got any bright ideas yet?"

 "Well, you saved me from that potentially deadly BLT with a deft 'wouldn't eat that if I were you, Potter'. Will that do?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Doubtful. Mild food poisoning and death aren't the same. And honestly, it was green. Don't know how you couldn't notice."

"My glasses are dirty."

"So take them off."

"Okay, but I'm practically blind without them. Just so you know."

"Really?" Draco perked up. "How blind? Can you see me if I do this?" He waved his hands about in an obscene gesture.

"No," Harry said flatly, "you're all blurry. But at a guess, I'd bet you're waving your hands about in an obscene gesture."  _Damn,_  thought Draco. He pulled his chair closer and made a face.

"How about now?"

"I can tell it's a face coming toward me, but not a lot of definition." Draco leaned forward over the table toward Harry. "And now?" Harry automatically leaned closer, opening his eyes in surprise when he didn't have to squint.

"Oh, there you are!"

"I should hope so." Their noses were almost touching. "That's pretty blind," he agreed.

Harry could smell Draco's aftershave from here. It was nice, crisp and a little like spiced cider. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and peered closely at the offending sandwich.

"It really is green. Why would the kitchen serve me something so moldy?"

"Maybe because you're eating them out of their entire stock of pumpernickel bread and deli meat?"

"Could be," Harry said, mesmerized as Draco sucked thoughtfully on his spoon. It was sinful, what he was doing to that crème brulee. His tongue flicked out and lapped up the last drop. He snapped his fingers.

"I've got it! How do you feel about peacocks?"

"Did I hear you right? Did you just say 'peacocks'?"

Draco just smiled and steepled his fingers together.

"Okay. I don't think I want to know."

* * *

"Attack!" Draco shouted at the albino peacocks preening themselves at his father's estate. They ignored him.

 "Um, Draco? I'm covered in birdseed and this still isn't working. Are you sure it's legitimate if you engineer the danger you're saving me from?" Draco shot him a withering glare.

"What's wrong, Potter? You used to love recklessness and idiotic bravery."

"Yes, but…"

"You'd dive in headfirst until one of your friends or a teacher or the bloody Headmaster himself came to bail you out of it. Some of us weren't that lucky. Some of us weren't showered with favoritism by every professor at Hogwarts." He sounded not so much resentful as resigned.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I guess I never-"

"No. You wouldn't, would you? Too busy being the Boy Who Lived. Twice. Hypocrisy's never comfortable, is it?" He said cheerfully.

Harry shuffled his feet.

He felt sticky.

"So much for this worthless lot. I should have you all put down." Draco kicked a peacock. It bit him.

"I don't think they're meant to be birds of prey," Harry offered, trying to be helpful. "Same time next week?" He tried not to sound too eager.

Despite the birdseed and the moldy sandwich, this was the most interesting day he'd had since- well, he couldn't remember. And that aftershave and suspected grope weren't helping matters, since this was also the closest thing he'd had to a date since the war. Many marriage proposals and offers of sexual gratification from busty witches had come in the mail, but George had stopped reading the most entertaining ones out loud. Now they just burnt them. Shame, really. Ron might have enjoyed them.

"Same time next week," Draco confirmed. "Until I save your life. Sorry about the birdseed."

Harry shrugged philosophically. He took a breath. Draco held up a hand.

"Stop. I can tell you're about to make some terrible Muggle joke, and just don't. Be off with you so I can fricassee Gertrude here."

Harry smiled and Disapparated. The echoes of his laughter remained, haunting Draco long after he'd blasted all the tail feathers off the birds.


	2. these useless things my hands have done

"Look," Draco said, shaking the fistful of peacock feathers at Harry. "Look what you made me do."

"Hello. Does this have anything to do with your aborted attempt to save my life?"

"It's Tuesday, remember? Every Tuesday I try to save your life at least once."

"Ah, yes. That."

Draco shook the peacock tail feathers at Harry some more.

"It's Gertrude. I felt so guilty for blasting away her tail feathers that I made one of the house elves knit her a sweater so she'll stop shivering. Now she thinks she's a pet. Do you know how difficult it is to put a peacock on a leash?" Draco tried and failed to glower at him.

"I always knew deep down you were a softie, Malfoy." Harry grinned.

"Shut up. And open your door, it's freezing out." Harry obliged. Draco stopped dead in his tracks, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

"Oh, no. I refuse to be seen in public with you wearing that. Go back inside and change immediately."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Those pants are ripped! And that shirt is two sizes too big!"

Harry eyed Draco's pale blue turtleneck sweater and black slacks under winter robes. He'd always had a hearty dislike for turtlenecks because they choked him; on Draco, however, it brought out the color of his hair and eyes, a symphony of pale winter colors. 

 _Oh, Merlin,_  Harry thought in disgust.  _Did I really just rhapsodize about Malfoy's shirt?_  

"Go on," Draco prompted, patting him on the back. The lower back. The space between his back and his ass. Nope, definitely his ass now.

Harry frowned suspiciously at Malfoy, who smiled serenely at him. 

_Did I miss the class where they taught us all this, or is Draco flirting with me?_

"Dressing me up for our date?" He shot back, but went inside all the same. He left Draco standing in the hallway, blowing on his hands.                                Harry found the dressiest, cleanest pair of pants he owned and a v-neck black jumper that had shrunk a bit in the wash, pulled on his winter robes and came back out for inspection.

"Yes, that's much more suitable," Draco said, his eyes traveling up and down Harry's body appreciatively. His gaze lingered at Harry's belt buckle.

"Draco."

"Hmm?"

"Give me your hands."

"Why?"

"It's obvious you're cold-blooded or have poor circulation or something, and I'm not going to stand here and watch you— look, just give me your hands, okay? Mine are warm." Harry placed one of Draco's icy hands between both of his own and rubbed vigorously. Draco's hands were soft, as he'd expect from a privileged member of the aristocracy, but his right middle finger had a callous on it from years of holding a quill. As Harry released Draco's right hand, he noticed that his nails were short and squared and immaculately clean.

"Better?" Draco nodded stiffly. Harry started in on the other hand, more gently this time. Malfoy had a freckle on the back of his left hand just below his pinky. "How's your wand doing these days?" Draco jerked back in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Your wand. Did you reclaim it thoroughly enough?" Draco narrowed his eyes at the other man.

"Are you implying that I-"

"Casting spells alright and all that?"

"Oh.  _Oh._  My  _wand_. Why didn't you say so in the first place?" His cheeks were reddening charmingly.

"I did."

"Yes, but I thought… oh, never mind. I get to pick the restaurant this time. Well?" He snapped. "What are you waiting for?"

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and trudged after the other man, wondering what harebrained scheme Draco would come up with this time.

* * *

"You just ate that entire pizza. What are you, the Boy Who Had a Bottomless Pit for a Stomach?"

 "I was hungry. And it was free." Draco brooded over his molten chocolate lava cake, which was oozing chocolate sauce at an alarming rate. He kept picking these ridiculous desserts and then eating them in an obscene manner. This time he seemed determined to wring every last drop out of the poor cake, and he made these closed-eyes 'mmm' noises that sounded positively orgasmic.

"Was it good for you?" Harry muttered, resisting the urge to point out that Draco had chocolate staining his upper lip, or worse, lick it off himself.

What? He was hungry, he thought defensively. And he liked chocolate.

"Delicious," Draco said with a contented sigh, and his pink pointed tongue ran over thin soft lips as he made another moan of appreciation.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He swallowed hard, and tried not to think about other things that were inadvertently getting hard. He shifted in his chair and stared down at his empty plate so he wouldn't have to wonder what that pink tongue would feel like, what those lips would taste like. He'd wondered what everyone in Slytherin saw in Draco, why he was always snogging  _someone_ , boy, girl or in-between. It didn't seem to bother him, his whispered reputation as an omnisexual playboy. He got what he wanted, didn't he? He was so thin and pale and pointy, all angles and sharp edges you could cut yourself on if you weren't careful. What made him so perversely attractive to Harry now?

To be honest, he'd always been surprised by Draco Malfoy: reaching out for the snitch then, sunlight catching in his hair; gripping onto his sides for dear life on a broom as they raced out of the Room of Requirement; licking his lips seductively in a turtleneck sweater sitting across from him in an Italian restaurant.

"What if we almost drowned you in a lake?" Those were the words that came out of his mouth, but his post-coital chocolate voice made them sound like  _what if I shoved you up against a wall and snogged you senseless?_

"Wouldn't work," Harry stammered. "I'm a good swimmer, but I'd eventually have to come up for air." He closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself.  _Great. Eventually come up for air. Smooth, Potter. Now you're replying to his imaginary unspoken innuendo._

"I could weight you down with stones," Draco said hopefully. Harry shook his head.

"No good. The closest lake is only waist-deep anyway. I'd just end up sitting in it getting wet."

"You could get kidnapped by a dragon."

"I'm not your damsel in distress, Draco. Even if you  _are_ proposing to be my knight in shining armor, which I highly doubt."

"Malfoys don't wear armor," he sniffed. "It rusts." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Attacked by rabid fans? Do you have rabid fans?"

"Not really," Harry said with a wan smile. "Unless you count Mrs. Weasley."

"Stalkers?" Harry shook his head again.

"Annoying middle-of-the-night answer-and-then-they-hang-up phone calls?"

"Probably not on the scale of what the life debt calls for." A wicked smile lit up Draco's face.

"I could save you from alcohol poisoning."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"No. Maybe. Have you ever been drunk?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. Draco's eyebrows shot up in alarm. He snagged the sleeve of a passing waiter.

"Get this man a Snakebite, and be quick about it!" Approximately thirty seconds later, the waiter returned with a set of Snakebites. "It's amazing how well people respond to authority," Draco noted lazily as he sipped at his drink. "If it bites back, you know they made it right."

"Can't I just try one of those nice blue ones with the little umbrella?" Harry whimpered, staring at the drink in consternation.

"No. It's far too early in the evening for girly drinks." Harry sighed and tasted his Snakebite. He clutched at his throat. "Oh, Merlin, my throat is on fire! My stomach is burning! That's just nasty!"

Draco looked heavenward. Initiating Harry Potter into the wonders of alcoholism was, he could tell, going to be a long and difficult task. Next he gave Harry a Guinness, which Harry hated. Draco couldn't blame him, but it was worth a shot. Then he gave Harry his choice of white wine, red wine, and champagne. The bubbles went up Harry's nose and he complained that the juice was bitter in the red and the white was too sour. Draco caved in at last and let Harry pick his own poison. He eyed the "Tequila Sunrise" but Draco shook his head.

"You're not ready for tequila yet, and I refuse to be around when you find out just how unready you are." Harry's second choice was something called a "Sea Breeze."

"Right up my alley," he said cheerfully. "Fruit, more fruit, a pineapple sticking off the side and best of all, it doesn't taste like alcohol."

"You have to be careful with those too," Draco cautioned. "You can get drunk before you know it."

"Psh," said Harry. "I'll know when I'm drunk."

Draco heaved a sigh and let the man go quietly to his doom.

He called for another Snakebite so he didn't have to watch.

* * *

"Am I drunk?" Harry asked, looking around for Draco. There were too many of him to choose from.

 "You are well and truly sozzled," Draco confirmed, slapping him on the back and missing. "Whoops."

"You just smacked my ass!" Harry said indignantly.

"Did not."

"Did too! You've been eyeing my ass all day. Admit it!"

"Well," he hedged, "it  _is_ a rather nice ass."

"Ha!" Harry laughed triumphantly. "I knew it!"

"Yes," said Draco wisely, "but you'll forget all about it by morning and I'll deny it profusely until you question whether or not I said it at all, or in what context I meant it if I did say it. You're drunk," he reminded Harry. "People do stupid things when they're drunk." 

 _Stupid enough to kiss me?_ Harry wondered.

"Speaking of which, I'm not nearly drunk  _enough_. Your rescue will be all the more spectacular if we're both pissed."

"Are we on a date?" Harry said. "Whoops. Did I just say that out loud?"

"Yes, you did, and no, we're not."

"Really? Feels like a date."

"You need to get out more," Draco said pityingly. "Trust me, if you were on a date with me, you'd know."

* * *

Draco turned slowly in circles, slightly at war with gravity and more than slightly drunk. He waved a hand at the stars. "Beautiful, inn'it?"

 "Yeah," Harry said, peering at Draco. "Beautiful." Strange he'd never noticed it before.

"Stars're up there," Draco reminded him, reaching out and turning his head toward the sky.

"Yeah, but you're over there. And there's stars in your eyes." Harry stroked a fingertip down Draco's cheek.

"Are you hitting on me, Potter?" He asked with a small smile.

"What? NO! Of course not. I was jus' saying."

"Oh. That's alright then. You know," he said after a pause, "you're guilty of the same thing you so disdained in me. Superiority. You think you're better than me."

"You're the pureblood here, if I'm not mistaken," Harry reasoned. Well, it was as close to reason as he was going to get, what with the world spinning and Draco looking all glowy and pretty under the stars.

"Nobler," Draco insisted. "Less prejudiced. That's what you thought. I know you. You did."

"Well, wasn't I? You, er, called Hermione a Mudblood."

"Ah, but didn't you hate my whole House? For no other reason than your preconceptions of us?"

"Er." Harry said, rubbing at his scar. Draco, unfortunately, had a point. Drunken philosopher, that one. Uncanny, the big words he could still use without slurring. He looked fascinatingly radiant when he was angry. A lot like Ginny, but less pouty.

"I treated you as an equal," Draco sniffed. "It was just your friends I treated like gobshite. There's a difference."

"So," Harry said too brightly, flailing for conversation, "how about those Cannons?"

"Hate them. Is it true Ginny called it quits with you because she found out you were a flamer?" Draco asked, slinging an arm around Harry and pushing him off-balance even further, both physically and metaphorically.

"What? No! Where'd you hear that? Ginny has no idea I'm-" he narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, who laughed and said,

"So it  _is_  true."

"I hate you," Harry muttered.

"You don't either. You saved my life," Draco reminded him. "And you think I'm pretty." He batted his eyelashes.

"Do not," Harry sulked, but not very convincingly. "I'm questioning! Only questioning."

"As if you're the only one," Draco said, shaking out his pale blond hair. "Why'd'you think I kept Crabbe and Goyle around all those years? It wasn't for the conversation, let me tell you."

"Oh, ew," said Harry, shuddering. "My eyes."

"I meant to keep all the ugly girls and boys at bay, idiot. You don't seriously think I'd ever… with Goyle? God, Harry, you're sicker than I thought."

"Sorry. Sorry." He paused. "Hey. You called me Harry."

"What? I did not! I-"

"You  _did_ ," Harry said, poking him in the chest. "You just called me by my name."

"Don't take it personally," Draco huffed. "So you never even thought before the war that you might be gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide?"

"I was a bit busy," Harry snapped. "What with saving the wizarding world from Voldemort."

"Well, la-dee- _da_ ," Draco muttered under his breath. Harry ignored him.

"When I did get the odd chance to snog a girl, it never occurred to me that maybe the reason I wasn't into it wasn't 'because I was about to die.' I guess I thought the frantic panic and distaste of it would go away in time."

"But it didn't," Draco said shrewdly, his face far too close to Harry's for comfort. Harry could feel Draco breathing on his cheek.

"No. It didn't. Now, when are you going to save me from alcohol poisoning?"

"I'm not. So I lied. You're a fun drunk. It'd be a shame to ruin it." Draco winked at him.

Harry's brain sort of shut off after that, so when he woke up in the morning lying atop Draco Malfoy (having apparently stumbled back to his own apartment), he wasn't entirely surprised but also had no recollection of the event.

His first instinct was to burrow into his shoulder and move closer. His second was to think it was a curious thing, considering he remembered almost nothing of last night, and that Draco was very warm and Harry's head really hurt. His third instinct was to leap off him in alarm, but the furious rattling of very important tiny parts in his head when he tried to move was incentive enough for him to reconsider the validity of his first instinct, after all. He moaned quietly. He was going to die, not from any Dark Lord, but from the mother of all hangovers.

Draco stirred beneath him and cracked an eye open.

"Harry? What the bloody hell am I doing in your apartment?"

"Not so loud," Harry whispered. "Skull is splitting open. Must be very careful not to break it."

"Okay, let's not panic. I'll try to piece the night together, shall I? You got extremely sloshed on fruity girly drinks-"

"Damn them to the depths of hell," Harry interjected.

"- then you hit on me and we established that you are gay and this is no surprise to me because of my omnisexual nature, which means I have gaydar but infinitely better. Then," he frowned, "I took pity on you and Side-Apparated you back home- did I really? Dear gods, it's a wonder I didn't splinch myself! I am more talented than even I suspected," he said gleefully. Harry would have hit him, but that would have meant movement, which meant pain. He groaned at him instead.

"And then, ah yes, it's all coming back to me now. You pinned me to your bed and demanded that I shag you, and when I nobly refused, you collapsed weeping atop me, where you proceeded to fall asleep." Harry turned a sickly shade of green.

"I did?"

"No, not really. I just wanted to see how gullible you were. You fell on me and started snoring. I was stuck."

"Oh." Harry wasn't actually sure which was the more embarrassing of the two proposed scenarios. "Well, er, thank you for getting me home. I suppose I'll see you next Tuesday, then."

"I suppose so," Draco agreed, heading toward the door. "Incidentally, you look really cute when you're sleeping. Cheers."

"Grk," said Harry.


	3. your beauty broken down for one you love

Harry and Draco were sitting together on a couch watching "Better Off Dead", hoping inspiration would strike. Well, it was either that or pray the tv would explode so Draco could shove Harry out of harm's way. Neither of them were actually willing to admit to a surreptitious, very sneaky, sexually-charged and wholly unexpected friendship that had developed between them in the last month. Harry had surreptitiously scooted himself closer to Draco during the movie so that their thighs were now touching. His head was precariously close to Draco's shoulder.

"This is crap," Draco stated bluntly. "We've already tried the bit with the toaster, but it was unplugged at the time so it didn't count; I tried hurling the Bludger at you but it turned out to be a Boomerang Bludger and I just got a broken nose," He ticked off the failures on his fingers. "Someone else untied you from the railroad tracks a good half hour before the train came. Hey, does that mean you now owe them a life debt?"

"Probably," said Harry.

"Oh," said Draco, comforted. "That's alright then. But hey, tell 'em to sod off for a while, yeah? My turn first." He ran his fingers through his hair, and Harry resisted the urge to do the same. Draco really did have beautiful hair. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked. "D'you think you could let yourself almost be run over by a bus or something and then I could swoop in and save you at the last possible moment?"

"It's worth a shot," Harry said agreeably, nuzzling against Draco's hair as non-obviously as he could.

"Really? You'd trust me to get the timing right?"

"Well, yeah. Mm, your sweater is soft."

"It should be; it's cashmere," Draco said, smug and inordinately pleased that Harry approved of his sweater. He didn't need Potter's approval when the boy was practically colorblind and hopeless when it came to fashion; still, warmth coiled in his gut at Harry's head on his shoulder.

"How on earth do you keep yourself in designer clothes? I thought your family was, er, in disgrace."

"I sell my body to bored, rich Korean women on the weekends," Draco said flippantly, and then laughed when Harry's head fell into his lap. "No, Harry, before you ask, I don't really." Harry visibly relaxed. "It's bored, rich Liverpudlian men, actually."

"Ha, ha," said Harry.

"I'm glad you find my dire plight and ultimate prostitution amusing."

"Someone has to. Might as well be me." Draco elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ow."

 

They perused public transportation maps for the busiest intersection in London and tried it, but no bus was going to hit the Boy Who Defeated the Dark Lord Once and For ALL. They all screeched to a halt a good twenty feet from him in alarm, and the drivers all got out and apologized profusely despite the fact that he was the one standing in the middle of a busy intersection holding a sign that read "Hit Me".

"Well," said Harry philosophically, "at least we know the bus drivers in London are paying attention."

Draco covered his face with his hands. Gertrude cooed sympathetically.

 

Harry was incredibly startled late Sunday night, when he answered the persistent knocking on his front door, to find Draco Malfoy standing in the door frame, hands in his pockets and a lopsided grin on his face.

"Hey," he said, making his way past Harry into the living room. He flopped down bonelessly on the couch, flicked the lamps down to his preferred dim lighting and idly transfigured Harry's remote control into a very confused-looking tortoise.

"Put that down," Harry said automatically, "Muggle technology and magic really don't mix and I don't know if it'll go back…" He tried to undo Draco's work, but the tortoise remained- its shell had lots of little grey buttons on it.

"Oops," said Draco, unrepentant. Harry wondered if he could still operate the tortoise as a remote for his television. He picked it up and aimed it at the tv: the resulting image was that of the activities of his neighbors down the hall. He blinked.

"Well, that's… interesting."

"I had no idea your neighbors were so kinky, Potter," Draco said. He sounded like he approved. Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed, sitting down next to Draco on the couch.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" He asked. "It's Sunday. Isn't Tuesday designated 'save my life' day? You're early."

The other man shrugged a shoulder.

"I didn't feel like waiting. And anyway, I'm not here to save your life. I got bored. Thought I'd challenge you to Wizard's Chess."

"Oh. Alright then," Harry said, agreeing. "I'll trample all over you."

"Hardly," Draco scoffed. "I learned from the best."

Several hours later, the two were at an impossible stalemate, and they'd stopped paying as much attention to the game and were asking each other various questions to stall for strategy time. Their knees were touching under the small card table and Harry was trying desperately to stop laughing so he could hear the end of Draco's story.

"And then she tried to feed me to the Giant Squid," Draco was saying, "and that's when I knew that not only was Pansy clinically insane, much like Aunt Bella, but that I'd lost all interest in furthering the Malfoy line if it was going to involve strange mating rituals and sea monsters. So I took up with blokes. Oh, and I decided I'd better learn how to swim." Harry wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"That's brilliant."

"What about you, then?" Draco asked, shrewdly eyeing Harry from across the table. His eyes gleamed in the half-light.

"What about me?"

"When did you abandon the Weaselette for those of the more attractive persuasion? Or vice versa?"

"I, uh…" Harry blushed and looked away. "I don't really remember."

"Sure you do. I bet I can guess more or less how it happened. You held her in your arms, all soft and small and fragile vulnerability begging for you to be her hero and protect her, and you knew you couldn't be what she wanted. You started to wonder how it would feel to touch someone who wouldn't break, someone who was just as strong as you and just as likely to grip too tight or bite too hard. Am I right so far?" 

Harry bowed his head and muttered, "Go on." Draco smiled, all teeth.

"You wondered what it would be like to have someone's stubble scratching against your jawline as he kissed you, rather than too-smooth skin that bruised like a peach. You wanted nails running down your back and low guttural moans that matched yours. You started looking around at other men, wondering for the first time what they looked like under their clothes and what they'd be like to kiss, whether they'd be aggressive or submissive." 

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Suddenly his lips felt very dry and he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, wondering how Draco suddenly knew so much. Draco looked back at him, steady, knowing. He stood and pushed back his chair, moving around the card table to stand behind Harry, who suddenly found he couldn't move. Even if he'd wanted to, which he didn't. Currently he was hoping that if he stayed very still, Draco wouldn't lash out sudden and deadly and strike.

"And then your thoughts became more specific," Draco said slowly by Harry's ear. "Don't tell me you've never wondered what it would be like to kiss me, feel my tongue tangling with yours as my hips pin you to a wall." Harry's eyes widened in shock at Draco's bold words. If he was being honest with himself, he was aroused, too.

"Tell me you never thought once about running your hands through my hair, seeing my pupils dilate with desire for you as my hands cupped that perfect ass of yours. Tell me you haven't envisioned yourself spread before me as I crawl toward you on a bed, predatory, and mark you with red bruises where I've sucked the blood to the surface with my kiss." 

Harry shook his head. He couldn't tell Draco that. It would be lying, and he knew lying was wrong.

"You're panting now just hearing me talk about it, because you've thought about that, too," Draco said smoothly. His breath was so warm on Harry's neck, but he didn't touch him with anything but words. "You've wondered what's under the immaculately tailored and groomed exterior, whether my Seeker's body is anything like yours, how we'd fit together." His voice dropped to a low velvety growl. "You're not the only one." Harry swallowed hard and turned to look at the other man, wariness, guilt and desire warring for control of his features.

"So." Draco spread his hands. "I'm here for the taking. Tell me what you want, Harry. All you have to do is ask."

"Draco," he groaned. "For Merlin's sake…"

"Yes?" He looked back at Harry, all carefully arranged innocence.

"Shut up and kiss me. Now." Draco's eyebrows lifted.

"And if I don't?" Harry shook with the overwhelming force of wanting and needing when he admitted,

"I think I'll die." 

With that, they were pulled together like magnets, slamming into each other with the bruising force of a kiss. Harry's hands tangled in Draco's hair and pulled his head back so he could touch and kiss and lick and bite his way across jawline and ear and neck, and Draco's hands were reaching down and squeezing Harry's ass without any pretense of doing otherwise. They were clutching at each other as if they were trying to crawl inside each other's skin through their tonsils, and it was very unwillingly when Harry finally came up for air to gasp at Draco's teeth on the side of his neck. The other man smiled, lazy and self-satisfied.

"Do you want to-" Harry began, breathless. Draco cut him off.

"There. Life debt discharged."

"What?"

"You said you'd die if I didn't kiss you. Now I've saved your life, and we're even." He smiled wanly and started to turn away.

Harry didn't let him make it three full steps before he tackled him to the ground.

"Oh, no, you don't. You can't just start something like that and not finish it."

"Ah. So this is just about sex, then." Harry hit him.

"No, you complete twat. I want you and I like you."

"Lucky me, then," Draco said, and sounded like he might even mean it. Harry didn't have too much time to worry about it, however, as he was being thoroughly snogged again. In the back corner of his mind he thought that he'd have to save people's lives more often, if this was the sort of reward he could come to expect. But really, he knew that Draco was the only prize he wanted.


End file.
